Swan Song
by TheIllustriousMadamRed
Summary: We don't get to choose what happens to us. We don't always get the chance to choose who we love, or the direction that our lives will take. But sometimes, sometimes we get to make a choice that stands for something that matters.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 _'We spend our lives dancing, to melodies others cannot hear. leaping, twisting turning, flying. but the song must end for all who dance'_

Everything hurt.

It felt as if her insides were on fire, as if some force had built her a personal bonfire in her belly. But it was a strange kind of fire. Prickling, tingling, but freezing. The wound she'd sustained was fatal. She'd seen enough of them to know it. Without help, she was dead, long before anyone could reach her. She didn't even know where she was, how could those looking for her have any idea?

Fear clawed at her throat, the irrational panic of a body in the throes of dying. Part of her realized that she was going into shock. The world fragmented around her. The fresh scent of newly cut grass, so familiar and yet so alien at the same time. Because on the edges of that springtime freshness was a heavy, cloying scent of iron, of rust.

A body lay across from her, slumped like a marionette with its strings cut. Crimson pooled around him, spreading out like an encroaching tide of death. The bullet wounds he'd sustained had killed him far quicker than the knife wounds he'd inflicted on her. She'd outlived him, but only by a few moments.

She was dying. But it was okay. She'd saved him. She'd saved him and he was going to be okay now. Because Red John was dead, he couldn't hurt him anymore. He couldn't reach out with those cruel grasping fingers and tear down his life anymore. Sure, she would have loved the chance to tell him, but gratitude isn't why she does her job. Ever since she was a little girl she wanted to save people, it's all she's ever dreamed of. It was the reason she became a cop. And with her final act, she has. She's cut the shackles that Red John had carefully layered about Jane, those suffocating painful iron shackles of blame and guilt and despair. She's freed him.

And as far as ways to die go, it wasn't so bad.

But with that said, she was still scared. Dying, no matter how inevitable it was, was something that still held fear for her. She feared what waited after death. She feared the sudden stop, the moment when this world faded away. She was alone. She didn't want to be alone for this. not that anyone really got a choice in the matter.

Her phone rang, shattering the silence of the barn with its strange tinkling tones. Her fingers scrabbled to pick it up, ignoring the blood smears that they caused as she looked down at the screen. It was him. His wonderful face in glorious technicolor.

God help her, but she wanted to hear his voice before she died.

"Jane?"

Her voice is carefully controlled, she didn't dare reveal to him the pain she felt. It would crush him.

His answer is typically quick, "Lisbon, Where are you?"

She gave a tired laugh, "Since when do you ask me that?"

"Everyone is looking for you." There is a hint of frustration in his tone, he absolutely hates it when he doesn't know. And he doesn't know that she came up here on a lead. A stupid lead that wasn't supposed to be dangerous. He doesn't know that she was caught up in a fight with the most dangerous criminal she's ever faced.

She answers softly, "I just went out on a lead. No need to fret."

Tears gathered on her lashes, marking her cheeks as they fell, cutting through the dust and the dirt that the fight had smeared on her face. Her last conversation with Jane. She was going to leave, and she wasn't callous enough to believe it wouldn't hurt him.

He paused, breath catching subtly, "Are you sure everything is alright?"

"I'm sure." She lies, she cannot bear to have him think for a moment that he could have saved her.

"You don't sound alright." His suspicion is warranted, and she cannot help but let out a shaky laugh.

"I just realised a few things, is all." She replies, her voice was slipping from her control. Her fear, her pain, all of it was leaking through and she wasn't sure if she'd be able to keep it from him.

"And that's made you sad?" his voice is smooth, a carefully cultured sound. It is a balm to her senses, but she can tell he's concerned.

"A little. I'll be fine." Liar.

"Teresa." His voice is slightly scolding, but her world is graying at the edges. She needs to hurry this up, or else he'll end up listening to her die. and she doesn't want that.

"Jane. Look. I have to go soon. So if there was a reason you were calling?"

When he answers her it is calm, but there is a sense of motion behind it, as if he is moving quite rapidly. "You haven't checked in. Cho said you were supposed to be back by now, I wanted to be sure you were okay. You know, because Rigsby was worried."

Another laugh, but this time the sound echoed with pain, and it felt as if she were choking on blood.

"Of course." Her voice is amused.

Silence hung between them, punctuated by the slight exhalations he made into the phone as he moved from one place to another. She made her decision.

"Jane?"

"Yes?" as usual, quick and snappy response.

"I just wanted to say, before I hang up."

"What is it?" now there is fear in his tone.

"I need you to listen, and not interrupt okay?"

He chuckled then, "A challenge, but I can handle it."

She sucks in a deep breath, and yet peculiarly feels as if she can't quite get enough air.

"You are the singularly most irritating man I have ever met. You hound me constantly. Drive me absolutely up the wall." She can feel his hurt through the phone, "But even though there have been days when I have wanted nothing more than to strangle you. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without you. if I had never met you. I don't ever want to think about it."

She couldn't feel her toes. There was an awful prickling sensation at the tops of her thighs, but anything below them felt numb. She felt awfully cold, the strange lethargic kind of cold that seemed intent on sapping her remaining strength.

"Lisbon?!" there is shock in his voice, and the tiniest hint of fear. But she doesn't have time to console him, or to deal with his questions.

"Not finished yet. I…I love you Patrick. I need you to know that." Her voice is no longer calm and controlled, she is scared, and inevitably sad.

"Teresa?" his voice is thick, and it cracks, just a little.

She pushes on, knowing that she's running out of time.

"It's gonna be okay Jane. Things will work out. I know they will. It's gonna be okay. But I wanted you to know that. Promise me you will remember what I said?"

Its fear from him now, desperate tangible fear, and part of her hates that she couldn't keep it together long enough to fool him.

"I."

"Patrick, Please!" her voice is almost desperate, and she hears a car door slam through the phone before he answers her.

"I promise." His voice is thick, and she feels her thundering heart clench.

She sighs softly into the phone, "then I have only one more request before I hang up. More an order than a request." Her voice is softer now, a little more breathy then she means it to be.

"you do love your orders." She loves him for that. He's trying to tease her, to reassure her in his own small way. but his fear is so tangible, so real, that the tone falls a little flatter than he means it to.

"Be happy."

"what?!" his voice is shocked, rising up a pitch.

She smiles tiredly, "When this is done. be happy."

"Teresa. Tell me what's going on. Are you alright?" his voice is desperate.

She gives a half-hearted chuckle. She decides to give him a little bit of the truth.

"I'm…I'm in a bit of trouble. But it's alright. I've got to go now Jane."

"Teresa!" his tone is desperate, and something keeps her from hanging up. "I love you too. I love you okay? Just hold on. Whatever is happening, hold on." His voice has lost all hints of control, there is raw desperation.

The phone clatters from her hand, numb fingers no longer strong enough to hold onto it. She wants to hang it up. But she cannot make her arms move, she cannot summon the will to pick up the phone again. She lets her gaze drift naturally upward, looking up at the small slice of sky she can see through the cracks in the barn roof. The sunlight falls across her, turning the seeping, creeping red into sparkling rubies. A surprisingly beautiful thing in the midst of this madness.

It's getting more and more difficult to breathe. It takes more and more effort to draw in breath. The painful bite of his blade, the way it had slid through her with far too much ease, the cloying choking fear, it begins to fade. Not because she isn't afraid, or those things aren't important. But because there's not much energy left in her. She'd much rather focus on something pleasant before she died. The cold has spread, enveloping her in a dreadful chill. She'd be shivering, if her body had even that much energy to spare.

She draws in another shuddering breath, it doesn't seem like enough air to fill her lungs. There is panic as her body seizes, grasping frantically to life. She stares up at that too blue sky, tasted the scent of hay in the air as the world began to grey around her.

It was a strange thing, slipping into the darkness as she did. It happened slowly, like a rising wave of nothingness. A darkness that promised respite from the fiery pain in which she suffered.

But for a moment, a moment before the wave engulfed her and the darkness claimed her as its own, she could have sworn she heard sirens. She could have sworn she heard the sounds of a helicopter chopping at the air. But most of all, she could have sworn she heard his blessedly fantastic voice calling her name.

All things considered?

There are plenty worse ways to go.

* * *

 _Authors note: Hi guys :D_

 _I was intending to have this up a week ago, but I've had one of the worst weeks i've had in a very long while._

 _I managed to tear a ligament in my leg, have a possible fracture in my ankle, which means i have to wear this clumpy heavy boot to protect my leg. Which is just perfect because i'm going to start my Masters course very soon, and i get to go to class with this for the very first day. and to top it all off, my net went down. yay!_

 _but everything's back up and running now, even if it is with a ridiculously uncomfortable boot, which the only upside of which is i can legitimately make Robot Mech noises and no one can yell at me ;)_

 _So here it is, I'm not quite finished with this yet, but i'm not giving any clues about the next chapter. You'll just have to tune in and find out ;)_

 _Anyway, please let me know what you think, I could really use some reviews to boost my morale ;)_

 _*Offers cookies*_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 _'But Not today'_

A soft rhythmic beeping intruded on her awareness. Slipping into the dark cocoon weaved around her, like a splinter pushed beneath the skin. Breaking it open and painting the world a terrible flashy red.

Pain. Splintering shards of it. As if she were a broken toy, barely stitched together again. But at the very least, to her dawning awareness's relief, there was a 'her' to feel these things. Which was probably a good sign. Her mind was filled with a cacophony of noise, confused fragments of senses coming back online, sending all kinds of distress signals that her unconscious mind had been unable to receive.

Beneath her fingertips was a strange roughness. The air that passed through her lips and down her throat was refreshing, in that she finally felt as if she was breathing properly.

She felt exhausted. Weak, weary, but wholly and irrevocably alive.

Someone was speaking, their voice piercing through confused noise of her brain.

"You're not allowed to die Teresa." The voice is soft, hoarse. As if the speaker suffered immensely in speaking.

Something grips her hand, the touch almost too warm, too tight as the gripper squeezes. But instead of making her flinch, making her draw away, there is a connection there. A fragile tenuous thread that promises more than just the harsh burning reality she knows.

"Do you understand that? You're not allowed to die. I can't watch you die."

The speaker is male, his voice is thick with grief and fear strangling him. Instinctively part of her wants to soothe him. Wants to draw him close and chase the shadows from him. But she cannot move. In that moment movement is beyond her, she still isn't quite connected properly. Still distant, aware of suffering, of hers and his, but she can't quite figure out how to make her fingers work. How to command her eyes to open.

"You've always been what I needed. I could always count on you. I know I ask so much of you. I'm impulsive and foolish, and I make your life so much more difficult than it needs to be. But you have to do one more thing for me Teresa. Just one thing. You have to wake up."

The desperation in his voice cuts through her. More and more senses are coming back online. She can smell disinfectant, that peculiar brand that seems to seep into the very walls of hospitals. But more than that, there was something reassuring in the air. A warm scent, with the faintest hint of mint. Tea.

Tea. That was important. Mint tea.

An image flashes in her mind, of a blond man with sparkling eyes sipping from a tea cup. His eyes fixed on her, an impish glint in them. Jane!

It's almost painful, when clarity strikes. She remembers, far more than she wanted. She remembers the painful kiss of the blade as it intruded on her insides. The shuddering recoil of the gun in her hand as she killed the man who she thought had killed her. She remembers Jane's voice. His voice talking to her as she desperately pretended she was fine.

"Please. Please don't leave me."

She's never heard him this desperate.

Then there is another noise, bumbling clumsy noises as someone enters the room. If they speak she cannot process it, the words unreal, hazy and wrong. Only his voice seemed clear to her, only his words seemed to make sense in a world of noise.

She feels him begin to withdraw, to pull away, and fear spikes through her pain addled brain. She struggles to let him know, to tell him that she can hear him. That she's trying. She's not sure if he's a figment of her imagination, if he is really there asking her in that terribly trembling voice or if it's her brain trying to bring her back from the darkness. He is necessary, he can't leave her. Not now. She gathers her will, all that she can, focusing on her fingers. She focuses all of that pain, all the endurance she has and pushes.

Her fingers twitch, flexing inward, just enough that he notices. She screams inside her mind, 'I'm here! I'm here. I can hear you!'

"Teresa?" his voice is desperate, hopeful. But that surge of effort has nearly drained her dry. The darkness clutches at her again, dragging at her and pulling at her mind and she barely understands what is happening. She's struggling, but the darkness is vast, far greater than anything she's encountered before. At the very least it does not feel malevolent. There had been nights when she first started, nights when darkness was so thick you could walk on it. Where the promise of danger hung in the very air. But this one seemed calmer. It promised respite, a break from the cacophony of senses assaulting her awareness.

Something touches her hair. It was a gentle touch, and the peace it brought her was unmistakable. It calms her senses. As if he had somehow sensed her distress and was moved to calm it.

"I'm not leaving you Lisbon. And you're not allowed to leave me either. You're going to wake up. That's an order."

There is a flicker of amusement in her. A corkscrew of gold amongst the red haze.

"And when you wake up, you're going to yell at me about that. And that's fine. Just as long as you do."

Her skin prickles. There is a new coldness in her veins. Not the horrible coldness of before, when her life was draining out in crimson splashes, but a soothing cold. It races through her veins, soothing the burning pain that made up so much of her reality. His hand on her hair, his scent surrounding her, his touch on her skin. These things meld together with the flood of cold, sinking her down into the darkness of before.

* * *

 _Authors note: Hi everyone :) thank you guys for your reviews, I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and i hope you guys like this one too._

 _I've been pretty busy this week, surprisingly (given that i'm on crutches), mostly preparing for my Masters. I wasn't sure i'd be able to get this chapter up in time. Mostly because i actually wrote two versions of it. I'm not finished yet though, so stay tuned :P_

 _I'd really like to know what you guys think, So please leave me a review down below :D_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 _'Some melodies are beautiful on their own. But sometimes, sometimes you find a melody that just fits in. that fills up the silence between the notes. What you have then is something bigger than just music.'_

Again the beeping intruded on her awareness. Careful, measured sounds that echoed nearby. This time instead of sliding into the cocoon, it tore it open. As if the funeral shroud that had turned her veins to ice had finally been pulled away, like some strange magicians trick.

The pain was muted. Where before it had been a harsh cacophony of fireworks behind her eyes, now it was like colours in the rain. Present, but somehow not as vibrant as it had been. Her entire body ached, muscles complained in weary droves to her brain, but this was an ache she could manage. A pain that was, at least for now, bearable.

Her right hand was warm, almost too warm. It took a few moments for her to realise that. To sort the confused sensations of her body into tangible impressions. Beneath the fingertips of her left hand was a rough cotton weave, but whatever engulfed her right hand was warmer, smoother.

In the brief moments before, when she had surfaced, she had been connected to her body in the most direst of ways. Trapped inside a violent red haze, barely able to understand, let alone cope, but already this time was different. There was more of her now. More of her and less of the panicked creature she had been in the grips of agony. She could feel a prickling in her toes, a tingle in her fingertips.

The next step, she determined, was to affirm exactly where she was. If this was a desperate hallucination of a dying mind, it would be terribly depressing. She concentrated on opening her eyes. The task seeming almost herculean to her current state of weariness. But slowly, far more ponderously than she would have liked, they swept open.

She was indeed in a hospital. So that was good.

There was no mistaking those painstakingly bland white tiles above her head, or the rough cotton blanket she now realised that was tucked around her. What surprised her however, was Patrick Jane holding her hand. His head rested on the bed, next to where his hand engulfed hers. His face was drawn, lines of worry etched into his skin even as he slept.

Her heart swelled, an infinitely tender feeling welling up inside her. She would have missed this face. If there had been a her after she died, then she would have missed him terribly. Some movement of hers must have alerted him, stirring him from the shallow sleep. His eyes fluttered open, the startling colour of them in no way diminished by the sleepiness in his gaze.

"That has got to be the most uncomfortable position I have ever seen." The words tumble out of her, catching in her parched through and snagging on dry lips. But the effect they have on him is extraordinary. He snaps awake, no pointless meandering between the states here. His head jerks up, face still bearing the faint creases from the sheet, and he stares at her with wide eyes. AS if he wasn't quite sure she was real. The wonder and relief in his gaze are so potent that any smart remarks she could have made, vanish. He's never looked at her like that before. Without the careful mask stitched in place.

"You're awake." His voice is soft, reverent and just the slightest bit unsure.

"I wake up quite often, you know." The words are out of her before she can really think about them, a reflexive attempt to find something familiar. Though he does laugh, the sound is harsher than usual, pain splintering in his eyes.

"Well Rigsby owes me a drink." He deflects before she can comment, and she appreciates the slight acceptance of her attempt for familiarity.

"A drink? He bet that I wouldn't?" There is only the faintest hint of disbelief in her tone.

"No. He bet that you wouldn't wake up for a week. I knew better, of course." He mocks lightly, pretending for a moment to be his usual smug self. It makes her smile, which in turn steals a hint of pain from his eyes.

He lets go of her hand, before she can ask for a drink, and is already pouring her a small cup. He grabs a straw, and carefully brings the drink to her lips. She sips, and the relief of the cool water is immeasurable.

She signals that she's had enough, and he pulls back, she grins, "Know it all." She jests as he turns to place the cup on the side desk.

"Saint Teresa." He replies almost out of habit, but then his breath catches, his entire body tightens with unexpected tension as he grips the side table with a force she's surprised at. It's as if he's enduring a great agony, and for the life of her she doesn't understand.

"Jane?" she questions softly.

"You almost were." His voice is hard edged, pain thick and vibrant in his tone. Understanding infuses her in a rush. She had nearly died. His nickname wasn't exactly the best choice of terms after such an event.

"I…" she begins, but there isn't much she can say.

"Why didn't you tell me?" his voice is low, and he still can't seem to look at her, "Why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

This is probably the least opportune time to be having this talk. But she can't figure out a way to delay it. So she decides for honesty. She owes that much to him.

"Because I was dying."

"I know that!" he snaps.

She doesn't let it faze her, "I didn't want you to watch me. I didn't want you to think that if you'd been faster or if you'd figured it out sooner, then you could have saved me. I couldn't do that to you. It wasn't fair."

He turns to face her, an almost violent shudder running through him. He drags his gaze to hers for a brief moment, and the pain in them is so deep, so vast, it's as if she's cleaved him in two.

"Not fair? You were dying Lisbon. It was my fault." The words feel as if they've been torn from him, dripping with contempt and scorn and loathing, but none of it was for her. It was all directed at him. He believed that it truly was his fault.

She concentrates, lifting her leaden hand and reaching for his fingers. He drops his gaze as her fingers brush his, and helps her out by letting her take his hand. She squeezes as best she can, "It wasn't your fault."

His eyes slam closed, and she continues softly, "It wasn't. There was nothing you could have done."

Suddenly he moves, leaning over her and pressing his forehead against her own, free hand gently touching the back of her head, as if to hold her in place. For a moment his breath washes over her face, and part of her realises that he wants to hug her, but fears aggravating her injuries. The warmth of him radiates, and she lets out a trembling breath as her eyes fall closed.

"I can't lose you Lisbon." His voice is broken, choked, "Don't you understand? I can't lose you." Her heart gives a painful twist, and something warm falls onto her face. She flinches, only to realise that it was a tear.

"Jane."

He shudders, and she wants nothing more than to pull him into this bed and wrap her arms around him until this pain disappears. She brings the hand that he's engulfed up, using his strength to place it against his cheek.

"Patrick." This time he sighs. But she doesn't open her eyes, not yet, she needs to do something, say something to chase the pain away.

"I'm not going anywhere." She states, a familiar kind of confidence in her voice, "You're kind of stuck with me."

That makes him laugh, and he pulls back, prompting her eyes to open. Her fingers are curled against his cheek, the warmth she can feel through them drawing her firmly back into this world, stitching and cementing her place among the living, at least for the time being.

"Promise?" he questions, eyes serious.

It means so much more than the words imply. He's not just referring to work, she can sense that much. There is that invisible yet somehow tangible weight of forever pressing down around them. But the meaning doesn't frighten her like it used to. Around her other partners it had seemed like an ominous cloud, something she didn't dare face. But with him, she's not afraid of that weight. She's not afraid of him, of what they could be anymore.

"I promise."

* * *

 _Authors note: Hi guys! :D sorry about the delay, You would not believe the week i've had._

 _Anyway, this about wraps it up for this fic. I'm considering writing more for it, but for the moment this is it. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as i have writing it._

 _You guys have seriously made my day with all the reviews, made me smile on some really tough days, so thank you, again for reviewing._

 _(Of course i'd love some more, if you guys want to :D)_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


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